


Permitted to Touch

by coolbreezemage



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Backrubs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Scars, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 02:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21468430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbreezemage/pseuds/coolbreezemage
Summary: After four years at Dimitri's side, Dedue can tell easily when he is in pain, even if he would prefer to keep it hidden, and he will insist on providing whatever aid he can.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 7
Kudos: 108





	Permitted to Touch

His Highness is in pain. He's hiding it, perhaps even well enough to fool his friends, who are of course deep in their own studies, scattered comfortably around the monastery's library. But Dedue has not stood beside this man for four years without learning how to read him. He must, for otherwise Dimitri would let wounds go untreated and troubles unaddressed. 

He knows parts of his lord that Dimitri dare not reveal to his friends. He knows what it means when Dimitri scrubs at his eyes in a vain attempt to dispel the headache that's been building for hours, when he turns back several pages in his book because he's been reading without absorbing any of the words. He knows what it means when his silence turns from calm and companionable to hesitant and guarded. 

Unlike the men of his village, it is not pride that keeps Dimitri silent through his suffering. There is a deep need for dignity there, yes, which is why Dedue will say nothing of it while others are around. But it is something else that holds him back from asking for even the smallest things when he knows full well that Dedue will provide whatever assistance he can. 

It is, Dedue has learned, some misguided idea of duty. A fear that any lapse will expose something unacceptable and unworthy within himself. As if Dedue has not watched him every day for four years do whatever he can to serve his people and his friends, no matter the cost to himself. He will pile these burdens upon himself until he breaks. 

In Fhirdiad, they had remained as close as Dimitri’s attendants had allowed, for the young prince’s peace of mind as much as for Dedue’s protection. It had cut Dimitri to the heart to take Dedue as a servant when all he desired was a friend, but what was there to do for a foreign orphan boy? No matter that personal retainer to the prince was an honorable position, that Dedue promised him again and again that it was no degradation to serve him. 

Dimitri had done all he could to ensure Dedue’s comfort and happiness: taught him the language of Fodlan, gave him his own private rooms and free reign of the kitchens, had the guards who sneered at him sternly reprimanded, but it had been a very long time before the palace felt like a home, that he might be safe behind its walls if nowhere else. And even then, he could never let his guard down fully. Hatred often came in subtler ways than thrown stones, and for all his dreams of justice, Dimitri knows it, and burns every day at the unfairness of it.

Dimitri’s fury burns himself as much as it burns others. He might believe he can sustain himself on rage alone, but Dedue knows it will consume him before his purpose is fulfilled. Even when Dimitri takes the throne, Dimitri with his endless compassion and soul-deep hatred of injustice, it will no doubt take many, many years before his people will welcome the survivors of Duscur among them. 

Until then, and no doubt beyond, Dedue will protect him and offer his support, as he once did for the lonely, tormented child who’d pulled him from the ashes of his home. 

Yes, Dimitri might have fooled his friends for now, but his friends are not fools and they will notice soon enough. And he would be humiliated if Mercedes - or worse, the Professor - takes him aside again to ask if he's slept or if he's eaten when it’s all too clear he has done neither in several days. 

He must act now, or not at all. “Your Highness.” 

Dimitri looks up. “Hm? What is it, Dedue?”

“I’ve just remembered there is some work in the greenhouse that has yet to be finished. Will you assist me?”

Dimitri gives him a look that tells he doesn’t quite believe that story, but he sets his book down anyway and rises from his chair. “Of course.” 

It’s only when they’re alone in the corridor that Dimitri turns to him and crosses his arms. “What is this really about, Dedue? I know you never leave work unfinished.” 

It was once a crime, in Faerghus, to lie to royalty, but that is not the reason for Dimitri’s skepticism. 

“Your Highness… you are hurting. It is not something I find pleasant to watch.”

Dimitri looks away, which is how Dedue knows he’s listening, and not dismissing his concern out of hand. 

“I was training with Raphael today,” he explains after a moment. “I’d asked him to help me learn to counter some axe and hand-to-hand techniques that caught me off-guard in the last skirmish.”

Dedue remembers that, remembers the shock of cold horror that overtook him when he’d raised his eyes from a fallen foe to see his prince caught in an unstable stance, weapon cracked and useless, as two bandits armed with wicked bladed gauntlets and a heavy axe closed in on him. To his eternal gratitude, Annette had also seen and the next moment taken out one of the bandits in a wind spell that lifted him like a rag and dashed him against the stones, leaving his fellow stunned enough for Dimitri to ram his broken lance into his chest. He stumbled back, and Ashe’s arrows did the rest before he had time to regain his balance. 

“It was a very rewarding session, but it went longer than I had anticipated,” Dimitri says, bringing Dedue back to the present. He smiles. “Raphael seems to have no end of strength.”

Concern grows within Dedue - was Dimitri injured, and continued training rather than seek aid? Dimitri seems to know his question before he can ask it. His next words wash away that particular fear.

“Everything went well. I ache quite badly, but there’s nothing to be done for that.” 

“There is,” Dedue says. He has made certain of it, accompanied the Professor to the market to purchase the needed seeds, painstakingly prepared beds for them with the ideal conditions for best growth. “Mercedes and I have been working on a treatment for sore muscles. It is an herbal poultice, heated and applied to the skin.” 

“Oh? I’d seen you two in the greenhouse together. I’d wondered what you were up to. Well, I’m willing to try.”

By wordless agreement they head first to Dedue’s room to fetch the supplies, and then to Dimitri’s. The halls are quiet at this time of the evening; they pass a nun who barely glances their way, and Ignatz of the Golden Deer, who waves shyly and continues on, a writing case tucked under his arm. Once they’re inside and the door closed, Dimitri removes his cape and sets about unlacing his armor, examining each piece for damage before setting it aside. It is a shield he wears almost every waking moment, a ward against an ambush like the one that stole his family from him.

Dedue doesn’t bother to look away as his lord undresses; there is no need for it. He knows what he will see, too-pale and marked by years of combat, willing and otherwise. He knows the feel of Dimitri's skin under his hands; had bathed him in those early days when he was too weak to stand on his own. He knows every scar laid down by treasonous blades on the body of a boy who had wished only to protect the innocent. 

A few times, Dimitri had even fallen asleep under his hands, barely stirring as Dedue carried him to bed. Even now Dedue recalls those occasions with a deep and lingering warmth. He wishes his lord would allow himself to be so cared for again. 

But it has been a long time since Dimitri has permitted such touch. After he returned bloodstained and dark-eyed from the northern rebellion, he had retreated into himself, pushing aside all offers of aid even when exhaustion and pain showed clear on his face. 

Today, at least, Dedue will not let that happen. 

While Dimitri settles himself comfortably on the bed, Dedue spoons a good portion of the poultice into a pan and sets it over a low fire. 

“Sit, Dedue,” Dimitri tells him, turning his neck to watch. “I won't have you making your own back ache from leaning over me.”

Dedue arranges Dimitri’s chair so he can mind the fire. He stirs the mixture so it warms without burning or overheating. When he pulls the pan from the flame, a heavy green scent rises up, more like the gardens than the infirmary.

Dimitri smiles, ever so slightly. “I’m going to smell like a holiday roast when you’re done with me.”

The comparison isn't entirely exact, but Dedue finds himself pleased even so. It has been days since he has heard humor from Dimitri. 

“Some of the herbs are ones also used in food, but others are grown purely for medicinal purposes,” he says as he scoops up some of the substance and finds the temperature just as he needs.

Dimitri groans as he puts down the first dab of poultice.

“Is it too hot?”

“No, it’s good. It feels good.” 

Heartened, Dedue spreads a thick layer of the stuff along Dimitri’s shoulder, rewarded with a quiet sigh of relief as the heat sinks into the muscle.

“If these ingredients could be grown in Faerghus…” Dimitri ponders, already thinking of how he might best serve his people. 

Dedue recalls the first time Ingrid assisted him with his work in the gardens and the greenhouse. How she had marveled at the wealth of food that could spring from even a small patch of rich soil, and mourned how barren her own lands were in comparison. Most of Faerghus suffers under similar conditions, as Dimitri well knows. So many lives lost for lack of food or medicine. 

“Some of them could be,” he tells Dimitri. “Some require warmer conditions, which could be achieved in a greenhouse…”

“Then we will build greenhouses,” Dimitri declares. 

So many glass panels would be an extravagant expense even for a king - most villages would have no way of taking on the cost. But if it will feed his people and heal their wounds, Dimitri will insist upon it. 

Dedue continues applying the poultice, careful to avoid new cuts where it might sting. There aren’t too many of those, he is pleased to see. The old scars will remain for the rest of Dimitri’s life, but careful treatment has ensured they will not pain him nor impede his motion. 

Dimitri closes his eyes and lets him work. As much as he likes talking with Dimitri, Dedue appreciates the quiet, for it means he can hear the little pleased sounds that come more frequently as Dimitri relaxes. He allows himself a small measure of pride for that.

It’s over too soon. “There,” he says, wiping his fingers clean on a rag. “We will leave it to cool before washing it off.”

Dimitri stretches carefully, trying not to disturb Dedue’s work; Dedue watches muscles ripple under the treatment. “Thank you. It is far more pleasant than some of the things Manuela has insisted on.”

Dedue frowns. “You would not require such treatment, Your Highness, if you took more care to remain uninjured in battle.” It is presumptuous, and insubordinate, but he cannot keep himself from saying it.

Dimitri turns his head to look at him with an expression that’s more fond than irritated. “And there you go, always so concerned. There’s no need to worry so much, Dedue. I can handle a fight.”

_ And yet, one mistake could take you from me_. 

“Your skill is unmistakable. But you value yourself too little. There are so many who rely on you and wish to see you well and unharmed.”

Dimitri sighs. “I know. And I’m truly sorry for worrying you.” He is quiet for a few moments. “We could train to fight side by side, if the Professor thinks it a good idea. Will that ease your fear for me?”

_ I will always fear for you_, Dedue thinks, but he says instead, “It would be an honor to go to battle at your side.” He would always prefer there not be the need to battle, but this world has not been so kind.

“Then that’s what we will do.”

Dedue dips a cloth into the basin of water and wrings it mostly dry before gently scrubbing the dried poultice from Dimitri’s back. He ought to have put down towels to keep any of it from getting on the sheets, but Dimitri is more comfortable this way and he’s careful enough to avoid staining even so. The treatment comes away easily, revealing skin and muscle looking much revived. 

“That feels a great deal better,” Dimitri says. “Thank you, Dedue.” 

But from the way he shifts his shoulder, it’s clear that something there still pains him. Dedue runs his hand over the spot, feels the tension there. After a moment’s hesitation, he begins to knead the muscle with his fingers, easing away the knot bit by bit. Dimitri leans into the touch, and it’s that small motion that emboldens him to continue rubbing Dimitri’s shoulders and neck long after the knot is gone, gently massaging the places on the curve of his neck that he knows best soothe him. 

“You’re warm,” Dimitri mutters. Dedue doesn’t know if he was meant to hear that, so he doesn’t reply, only continues the touch, adjusting as Dimitri shifts sleepily under his hands.

At last Dedue can justify it no longer and pulls his hands away, resisting the regret that washes over him as the contact ends. He wants to keep touching Dimitri, run his hands all down his back, wants to hold him while he sleeps, he wants to… But it doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that he can ease Dimitri’s pain. And if he finds it warming and pleasant to do so, he can keep that to himself.

He stokes the hearth a little warmer and gathers up the jar, pan, and rag. By the time he turns back, Dimitri has pulled the blankets over himself and is watching him with calm, tired eyes.

“Someday, Dedue,” he says, after a quiet yawn, “you must let me do something so good for you.”

“Your Highness,” Dedue says, “you already have.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my Discord! https://discord.gg/4vpWaZU


End file.
